


Abstraction

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [23]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Overthinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:10:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos has some thoughts on recent developments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



They are finally home. New Year came and went amidst hugs and fireworks and Aramis getting drunk on Champagne. Athos watched Porthos carry him to bed, his heart overflowing with tenderness, and he didn't say no when Porthos told him to come to bed with them – didn't see why he should. Now he does. It would have given him time to replenish his resources – to build up his resistance and catch a break of solitude before the heating system broke down on them. 

Athos cannot believe this is happening. He is freezing. In his own apartment! He'd known the pipes were old, but he was assured they would last for another ten years, if not twenty. Lies. All lies. 

At least the other tenants are warm – he checked on every single one of them – and only the pipes leading up to the penthouse gave up the ghost on the first day of the new year. It is infuriating. It is aggravating. It is … incredibly cosy. Porthos and Aramis have erected an actual pillow fort on the couch, built a nest out of all their blankets, and only come out for tea and hot chocolate. 

"What are you doin' there?" Porthos demands now, poking his nose out to catch a glimpse of Athos standing by the window, staring out at the tumbling snow. "Get back in here, you're gettin' all cold!" 

Athos can't. He actually, physically, cannot. This is ridiculous. He has been snuggling with Porthos and Aramis for the last 24 hours. His body feels warm, and soft, and he knows that if he gets back into that blanket nest, Aramis will attach himself to him and be all kinds of adorable in his general direction. Athos _can't_. Even after his somewhat sensational confession the other day. 

Aramis gave him a new set of brushes for Christmas. A really nice one. Far too expensive. And all Athos can think about is using those brushes to paint Aramis, or maybe paint _on_ Aramis, with Porthos watching, talking in that low voice of his he uses when - 

Oh dear, not that again. Athos needs to get out. Maybe take a walk. Because this cannot be happening. These thoughts. About Aramis. And Porthos. Together. They have been so good to him, always, are always so warm and welcoming, and never seem to mind him intruding into their togetherness. Athos cannot begin to understand what is happening here. He's had occasional thoughts about Porthos over the years – sexual thoughts – and who wouldn't with the way Porthos never puts on a shirt unless he absolutely has to. But Athos never fantasized about Porthos and his partners in bed before, and he certainly did not enjoy hearing them through the walls. It usually made him uncomfortable; sometimes more, sometimes less, depending on the partner. 

With Aramis it never makes him uncomfortable. It's ok. It just happens. It's kind of nice. It should not, under no circumstances, be _kind of nice_. Because Athos has gotten used to the idea that sex is just not for him – not only used to the idea, but comfortable with it … comfortable with himself. It's who he is. 

He is Athos, and Athos is not interested in sex. At least not with other people. Occasionally he takes care of himself, and that is always enjoyable – always has been. Where the sudden jump from that to teasing Aramis with brushes is coming from, Athos does not quite understand. He shall most certainly resist … even if Porthos would probably let him … and Aramis, too. Oh dear. _Aramis, too._

Because Aramis likes him, likes him _almost_ as much as he likes Porthos, and Athos knows what that means – what he _doesn't_ know is what it means for the three of them as a group. An entity. Aramis and Porthos are boyfriends, and Athos is _their_ friend, and he cannot, for the life of him, come to grips with the fact that there is a considerable amount of affection in the mix that goes beyond the usual bounds of friendship. Whatever those are. Porthos certainly never minded them overmuch. 

"If you don't get back in here right this second, I'm gonna come and get you," Porthos threatens at this track switch point of Athos' train of thought, derailing it and sending it down into a lake of surprisingly warm water. 

Athos sighs. "I am fine." 

"And what about us, eh?" Porthos demands. "What if we aren't fine and need you and your luxurious pelt to keep us warm." 

"Your way of telling Aramis to give me a haircut is both cumbersome and offensive," Athos drawls, relaxing into their banter. This he can do. No brushes involved. 

"Offensive?" Porthos snorts. "How? I'm pretty sure luxurious pelt is a compliment. What do you say, kitten?" 

"Definitely a compliment," Aramis agrees from the depth of his blanket. "A rather nice one, too." 

Athos loves them so much. Which is part of the problem. 

"Come back here," Porthos coaxes him, and Athos comes, cannot resist that tone of voice. He rounds the couch and delves into the gap between blankets they hold open for him, finds himself immediately trapped between two warm bodies. Their warmth comes as a shock to his system after standing next to the cold window for so long, and he shivers, closes his eyes. Porthos presses into him from the left, moulds himself to Athos' side, and Athos can feel his chest expand with every breath he takes, can feel the hard lines of his body shift to make him comfortable. Aramis lifts both arms to encircle Athos in a gentle embrace, sighs and presses his face into Athos' neck, neither shy nor hesitant. It feels amazing to be between them like this, and Athos is aware of the cold draining out of him – is aware of his body becoming soft and pliant. 

"There, that's better, isn't it," Porthos whispers into his ear, and then his hand is on Athos' belly, strokes upwards to his chest, and then down again – big and warm and damnably gentle. 

Athos never knew himself to be susceptible to a gentle touch, never knew himself to be sensitive or easy to seduce. Yet they are seducing him, are weakening his resolve to remain independent, are turning him into an addict to their touch, their closeness. They don't mean to – are certainly not meaning to do him any harm, and sometimes Athos finds it difficult to remember why he should resist.


	2. Chapter 2

"I am going to sleep in my room tonight." The statement is calm, and perfectly smooth. Athos is proud of himself. For some strange reason he'd feared that voicing his decision would result in stammering. But no, he still commands his voice and makes it do what it's supposed to, even when he's lost control over pretty much every other part of his body (and soul). 

"Alright," Porthos replies comfortably. "Make sure to take a second blanket." 

There's a certain notion of surprise in hearing those words, but then again Athos always loved Porthos for never trying to coax him into anything. When Athos says no to something that's that. There's never any discussion, never any pushing, be it ever so teasing and light-hearted. Not in matters like these. Porthos always allows Athos to be himself, to be as reclusive and lonesome as necessary. 

Apparently Aramis takes his cue from him. "I hope you won't be cold," he murmurs, already half asleep. His lips brush against Athos' neck, and Athos closes his eyes, knows that he has to make his escape soon now. He's still sitting between Aramis and Porthos on the couch, rendered absolutely helpless by the way they're holding him. It's not merely comfortable, but also strangely arousing. A low heat is burning inside of him, turning his bones to liquid fire and making his skin sensitive to the lightest touch. Making him crave more. 

Nothing in his life has prepared Athos for this experience – for the need to let himself fall and be consumed, to trust so thoroughly that blind faith itself would bow down before him. Porthos' hand is still resting low on his belly, his thumb brushing back and forth just beneath Athos' navel, and either Athos makes his escape _now_ or his condition will become a lot more obvious presently. 

"Good night then," he murmurs, brushing a kiss to Aramis' cheek before he can stop himself. "I will see you in the morning." 

"You sure will," Porthos smiles, releasing him from their blanket fort. "Be quick to get into bed, yeah?" 

"I shall do my very best," Athos drawls, and hurries away. 

He's in bed and under the covers ten minutes later, heaving a sigh. There. That is better. Much better. If a trifle cold. But at least he didn't embarrass himself. Yet. 

 

Breakfast the next morning is a hurried affair, for the apartment is by then extremely cold, and no-one wants to remain in it for longer than strictly necessary. 

"Promise me to seek shelter with Miss Durham until the repair guy shows up," Aramis mumbles into Athos' hair as he hugs him goodbye. "You're going to freeze to death if you stay here." 

"I'll promise you anything you like," Athos smiles, handing him his thermos while Porthos pulls a new hat over Aramis' ears. 

"You should make good on that carte blanche as soon as possible," Porthos chuckles, pressing a kiss to Aramis' rosy cheek. "See you tonight, kitten. Say hi to Constance from me." 

Aramis assures him that he will, and slips out the door, and Athos realizes somewhat belatedly that Porthos isn't dressed for going out yet. "Did I miss something?" 

"Quite a lot," Porthos mutters, and grabs his shoulder. "Come on, let's get comfortable." 

Athos allows himself to be dragged along, bemused but unruffled. "Did I do something?" 

Porthos rolls his eyes, affectionate and exasperated at once. "It's more what you said than what you did or didn't do." He pushes Athos onto the couch and follows him down, wraps them both in a blanket. "I talked to Aramis last night." 

Athos' face brightens and his heartbeat quickens. "Did you finally tell him that you love him?" 

"No," Porthos replies slowly, his expression softening to one of hapless devotion. "Strangely enough. We were talkin' about you." 

Athos swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. "Why?" 

"Cause he's afraid that you might get uncomfortable round him after that little bomb you dropped the other day," Porthos drawls, dry as dry ice. 

Athos goes hot all over and feels tempted to bolt right out the door, without any coat or shoes. "You should be the ones getting uncomfortable." 

"For turnin' you on?" Porthos sputters, blunt and to the point as always. "Why?" 

Athos slips out from underneath his touch and pulls back, and Porthos lets him, a little frown between his brows. "Athos, listen: you're always allowed to change, alright? You're allowed to change your mind, and your habits, and how you go about life." There's a short pause, during which Athos finds himself utterly unable to look into his friend's eyes. Then Porthos continues. "Aramis and I'll always be there for you, no matter what you want. And if you need us to take a step back and … and maybe touch you a little less, we can do that." 

Athos' eyes snap wide open at that, and his heart performs a neat little drum solo inside his chest. "But I am …" His voice trails off, and he stares down at the floor. "You know it never … never felt right." 

"I know," Porthos says softly. "That's why I'm askin' you. Cause we want you to be happy." 

He sounds so very sincere that it hurts a little inside – pulls at Athos' heart and forces him forward, closer to Porthos. Porthos' arms come up around him and hold him tight, allow him to relax despite himself. 

"I don't know what to do," Athos hears himself whisper, sounding like an insecure child, overwhelmed by life's choices – yet trusting that his friend will sort it out for him. 

Porthos promptly drops a kiss onto his head. "You don't have to do anythin', love. Just let me know if you need me an' Aramis to give you a little breather. I know we've been all over you in the last few weeks, and if you want us to stop -" 

"No," Athos whispers, voice brittle but fierce. "No, I do not want you to stop." 

"Alright," Porthos replies, failing utterly to hide the satisfaction in his voice, coating his words like honey. "Then we'll carry on how we think best, yeah?" 

"Yes," Athos murmurs, hiding his face against Porthos' chest and closing his eyes, relaxing into his arms, "please do."


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis comes home early that evening. Athos has by then received a visit from not one but three heating engineers. The old pipes were replaced, as were the heaters themselves. Everything is fine. Apart from Aramis coming home early. 

"Is everything alright?" Athos asks him from behind a mug of tea, moving to get up from the couch. 

Aramis waves him back down, slithering out from underneath his massive scarf. "Everything's fine. Business is just always a little slow after New Year, so Constance sent me home." 

He bites his lip and glances at Athos through his lashes, and Athos, fortified by the efficiently brisk manner of his three heating engineers (all women) heaves a deep sigh. "Yes, Aramis, Porthos talked to me." 

Aramis flushes adorably and waves his hands in Athos' very general direction. "I have no idea what you mean." 

"No?" Athos drawls, lifting both brows. "Good. Then we do not need to talk about it as well." Aramis promptly pouts and makes a valiant effort not to let Athos notice. He goes back to the door to get rid of his scarf, and when he returns his face is carefully devoid of emotion. Athos wants to kiss him. It's just that Aramis is always so vulnerable and awkward, like a kitten stuck up a tree. One can't help but want to get him down safely and pet him. "Please, come and sit with me," Athos asks him, all drawling kept under lock and key. "I have had some time to think since the morning." 

Aramis rushes to his side then, basically falls onto the couch and looks at Athos out of big, expectant eyes. There's a noticeable gap between them, Athos realizes, the kind of gap you leave for people who maybe do not want to be touched. Once that discovery is made, he reaches out and takes Aramis' hand, naturally. "Has Porthos not told you yet?" 

Aramis blushes and stares down at their hands, dips his head to hide behind his windblown hair. "No, I asked him not to. I … I wanted to talk to you myself, and … not make you feel like we talk to each other behind your back." 

Athos strokes his thumb over the back of Aramis' hand. "That is very sweet of you." 

That earns him a shy little smile, and Athos bites his lip, smiles back. "Porthos told me you were worried I might … be uncomfortable with recent developments?" 

Aramis nods, blushing rather insistently by now. "I … I mean I have never … for me it was always -" 

"You enjoy sex a lot," Athos says softly, and Aramis' eyes fly open and stare up at his face. "I do not like to have it," Athos explains with an amused little smile. "That does not mean I cannot talk about it." He takes a deep breath. "Me, I do not enjoy sex. At least not with other people. But I have … fantasies that I find quite enjoyable, and I touch myself, occasionally." Aramis blushes a fiery red that clashes with the pullover he's wearing. Athos chooses to ignore that fact. Aramis should know. With all that's going on at the moment, Aramis needs to know. So Athos elaborates still further. "Until very recently I did not find any pleasure in physical contact. I found comfort in it, yes, and warmth, but not pleasure." 

"Now you do?" Aramis asks, sounding as eager as he does amazed, and it's Athos' turn to blush. 

"Yes," he says softly. "Now I do." 

Aramis looks delighted. "That's nice." 

"Yes," Athos says again. "Surprisingly so." 

Aramis tilts his head then, and looks at him. Really looks at him. Athos gazes back, unable to avoid Aramis' eyes, so dark and soft, anything but threatening. 

"Can I ask you something?" Aramis asks him. 

"Of course," Athos replies, still holding on to Aramis' hand. "What is it?" 

Aramis takes a deep breath. "Have you ever kissed Porthos?" 

It is not the question Athos expected, and he blinks, straightens a bit. "Have I ever – why?" 

"Because you kiss me," Aramis says, very earnestly, "but you never kiss Porthos; and I want to know if it's because of me." 

Athos swallows dryly. "No. I mean - I never … Porthos and I, we never kissed. We were never lovers." 

Aramis is still looking at him, as if that didn't quite answer his question, and Athos clears his throat. He cannot possibly tell Aramis that it's because of him. Even if it is. For that's the only thing that's changed, the only thing that's different. Aramis. Aramis is the one who crawled under all of Athos' defences and threw the doors to his heart wide open. Aramis is the one who managed to put a new spin on the dynamics in Athos and Porthos' relationship after all these years … who found his place with them and made them happier just by being there. 

"If you want to kiss him," Aramis whispers at that point, gently pulling Athos back to the present, "you can. I don't mind." 

Athos blinks. If he wants to he can -? Oh. _Oh_. 

"Are you certain?" he asks, his voice a little scratchy, and suddenly Aramis smiles at him, happy and trusting. 

"Of course I'm certain." He bites his lip and looks Athos up and down, stares at their entwined hands again. "Can I hug you?" 

"Yes," Athos says, just to be tackled onto the couch, receiving an armful of warm, squirming kitten. 

"I'm so glad we don't make you uncomfortable," Aramis murmurs against his neck, lips warm and soft against Athos' skin. "But if we ever do you just have to tell us, ok?" 

"Ok," Athos agrees, closing his eyes. He breathes Aramis in, the shampoo and body wash that smell just like Porthos has for the last ten years. It is such a comforting smell, calming and familiar, and Athos relaxes into the couch, distributes Aramis a little more comfortably in his arms. 

It's how Porthos finds them, half an hour later. They are half-asleep by then, all drowsy and tangled up with each other, and Athos barely notices the shift in atmosphere when Porthos enters the room. Their sluggishness allows Porthos to take a picture before he advances on them, and when he leans in and gives Aramis a kiss, Athos can't but reach out to him and keep him close. 

"Yes?" Porthos asks, dimpling irresistibly. 

Athos has trouble recognizing his own voice, hearing himself reply, "Me too."


End file.
